


send me down

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Series: Radioactive [4]
Category: Veep
Genre: Again, Angry Sex, Angst, Biting, Blow Jobs, Consensual Infidelity, Cunnilingus, Dan being miserable, Deepthroating, Face-Sitting, Love Bites, M/M, Miscommunication, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Spanking, Unreliable Narrator, Wall Sex, discussion of threesomes, fuckboys in love, porn without feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Jonah says, sounding resigned. “You’re lucky you’re so hot.”</p><p>Dan grins. “Go fuck yourself. Look, do you want to hear about the ballerina I fucked or not?”</p><p>A pause. “Jesus, Dan. Why didn’t you lead with that?”The timbre of Jonah’s voice has changed, just subtly, and it’s fucking stupid how easily Dan’s whole body sort of melts into it. He thumbs the tip of his dick through his pajama pants and finds it already wet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this in kind of a hurry, so let me know if there's anything else you think I should tag for. I will warn that they get very mean in here so mild warning for emotional/verbal abuse, dubcon, etc. YMMV with that obviously.
> 
> So wow! This is a thing, I guess. I don't know how I feel about it but I'm just gonna put it out there before I can chicken out. Let me know what you think. Fuckboys rule everything around me. 
> 
> Title from the HAIM song of the same name. Go listen to it, it's amazing.
> 
> ETA: Actually this series now has an official mix: http://8tracks.com/adeleblaircassiedanser/baby-i-m-gonna-leave-you-drowning-radioactive-part-i 
> 
> So you should go listen to that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan wants to stop laughing, but he physically can’t. Is this fucking aberration against God trying to break up with him? This is hilarious. “Sorry. Tell me again what the fuck it is you think is happening here?”
> 
> “I don’t fucking know, Dan. That’s why we have to talk. We’ve been fucking around for, what, almost a year now, and we’ve never had a conversation-”
> 
> “What fucking conversation, Jonah? This isn’t a relationship. What were you expecting, fucking anniversary flowers?”

The thing about it is that given another two years in the House, a chance to build up a little more name recognition, Kathryn Valdez could really make the Senate. She’s an absolute natural, charming to the point that it makes Dan envious, yet never coming off calculated. And then there’s her bio- _not_ running for office would practically be criminal, what with her dead Air Force cadet husband, hardworking single mom status, and social justice cred.

 

Not to mention, it’s nice to have a boss he doesn’t have to explain social media to.

 

Behind closed doors, she rolls her eyes at the media narrative- “David died in a car crash. He hadn’t even graduated from the Academy yet. I mean, it fucking sucked, but he was no American hero.”

 

On stage, though, she's perfectly on message.

 

“When my daughter Sophia was born- almost five years ago, I can hardly believe it- my husband David was attending the Air Force Academy not fifteen miles from here. And I just know that here in Colorado Springs, much like people all over this great state, you want for your own kids what me and David always wanted for Sophia. And that’s to be proud to do everything you can for your country, including serve, and to know that we live in most free and equal place on Earth. Thank you.”

 

Anyway, the point is that there’s a ton of potential here, but today in Colorado Springs, the home of Pikes Peak and Focus on the Family, Kat ends her speech to only tepid applause. With less than four months’ notice to put together a Senate campaign, they’re definitely up against it. It looks likely that the GOP will beat them in this race, and might even take her House seat while they’re at it, although CD-2 contains CU-Boulder and is pretty reliably blue. On the walk back to the cars after the speech, some old man rolls by them on the sidewalk in a fucking Buick and just yells out “DYKE!” at the top of his lungs before pulling away.

 

“Wow, pansexual erasure much?” Kat says, looking more amused than anything. “On that pleasant note, do we have anything uncancellable planned for the next couple days? The baby’s been with her grandparents all week and Facetime really isn’t cutting it.”

 

“You have that prayer breakfast Sunday at the church in Centennial,” Dan says, consulting his phone. “Other than that, I think we’re in good shape. Honestly, a few family-friendly Instagram posts this weekend will probably do us more good than meeting any more of the adoring public.”

 

“Sounds good. I’ll see you Monday, then.” Dan starts to argue, but she cuts him off. “Take some time. Your dark circles have dark circles at this point, _blanquito_.”

 

Dan sets a couple meetings on the drive back to the hotel in Denver, lunches and drinks with donors who haven’t maxed out their campaign contributions yet. Mostly, though, he’s not thinking about work. It’s not like him to take breaks, moderation is for mouthbreathers, but for some reason being home for a little while, sleeping in his own bed, sounds ridiculously appealing. He books a flight for the following morning, Thursday, and packs dirty clothes to trade out in his closet at home.

 

\--

 

After dropping off his dry cleaning, taking a nap, showering, and cleaning the bathroom, Dan gives in and texts Jonah.

 

To: Jonah 4:45:09 PM EST

Come over?

From: Jonah 4:46:00 EST

Okay? Since when are you here?

To: Jonah 4:47:45 EST

MMS SENT - IMAGE ATTACHED

 

Dan cracks a beer while he waits for Jonah to answer, and then has another when he hits the bottom of the bottle and there’s still nothing. It’s almost six when the doorbell rings.

 

When he opens the door, Jonah is doing something weird with his face.

 

“What?” Dan says.

 

“Nothing. Just. You’re here.”

 

“...Right. The miracles of modern aviation. Are you coming in or what?”

 

Jonah shrugs. “I guess.”

 

“You want a beer?” Jonah makes a half-hearted gesture, like _why not?_

 

Dan uncaps the bottle for him, and for several long beats they’re just looking at each other. Like everything else between them, it feels like a game of chicken. In a stark departure from the norm, however, Dan finds himself not minding being the one to cave; in fact, it’s more than that. He’s feeling _generous._ Rather than examine this odd impulse, he just acts, moving to set both their bottles aside and leaning up to meet Jonah’s mouth with his. Jonah tastes like shit- like cheap beer and the staleness of a long day in the West Wing- Dan grins to himself. It’s fucking great anyway, so familiar as to be effortless, Jonah’s hand on the small of his back.

 

“Dan,” Jonah says after a while, pulling back to meet his eyes.

 

“Yeah?” He’s pulling that constipated face again. Dan can’t put a read on it.

 

“Nothing, never mind,” Jonah says after a minute.

 

“Okay,” Dan says, bemused. He leans in for one more kiss while getting at Jonah’s belt with both hands, then his zipper, pulling his pants down smoothly as he drops to his knees.

Jonah’s still mostly soft, but that honestly suits Dan’s purposes just fine: he’s in the mood to do his best work, deliberate and thorough. To this end, he licks a slow, careful stripe up the perineum; when he’s rewarded with Jonah’s slight shiver, he repeats the motion twice more, then uses two fingers to trace the line as he moves to mouth carefully at Jonah’s balls. Jonah groans softly, and his hips are moving in little forward circles. Dan pulls back to see Jonah’s cock half-hard; he takes it into his mouth eagerly, feeling it stiffen on his tongue. He moves his free hand to stroke up from the base, then pulls out to mouth at the tip, lapping up drops of precome.

 

As a rule, Dan really prefers not to deepthroat, even with previous conquests who were less physically daunting than Jonah’s freak-of-nature situation. He’s always just found it- the gagging, the watering eyes- it’s just so _undignified._

 

Today, though, Jonah’s being uncharacteristically quiet. He’s responsive, yes, but his reactions seem muted- literally. Usually he would be narrating everything, talking nonsense, dropping pet names indiscriminately. If pressed, Dan would have probably placed his feelings on the subject at neutral-to-mildly-annoyed. Now that the commentary is gone, though, he finds himself indignant at its loss, itching to up the ante, to earn the positive feedback. He pulls off for a second, steels himself, then sinks down as far as he can, swallowing. It’s an overwhelming feeling, for sure, but not as unpleasant as he remembered; he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, anyway, and he’s so focused on being _here_ that he’s not overthinking it.

 

Encouraged, he goes to pull back and sink down again, flicking his eyes up to watch Jonah’s face for tells. Unlike the last three times he’s looked, Jonah’s eyes are open, and when their eyes meet Jonah’s mouth falls open, too, and then he’s saying- almost shouting, honestly-

 

“Fuck, Dan, no. I can’t do this. Get off.” Then, as if Dan were unable to comprehend the same quite simple idea repeated loudly, three times in three different ways, and in his native tongue, Jonah grabs his shoulders to push him off as well. Dan jerks away violently, moving to put as much space between them as possible.

 

Jonah is still talking, but Dan is outside the room - his body is definitely still there, on the other side of the kitchen island, but all he can sense is this hot, acidic feeling pouring over him in waves. His skin is crawling.

 

Jonah has zipped up his pants, refastened his belt, honestly looks the same as he would had he never been here, in Dan’s house, at all. He’s still talking out of his face.

 

“Dan? Can we talk?”

 

“You better talk fast, buddy,” Dan says. _Before I fucking throttle you._ Then, when Jonah hesitates:

 

“Hmm? Whaddya wanna talk about?”

 

Jonah looks uncertain. Dan has a feeling his face is doing something scary, but he has as much control over that right now as he does over the weather.

 

“Uh… like, us?” Jonah says finally, eloquently. “Like, what are we doing?”

 

 _Well, apparently nothing, since you no longer want me to touch you,_ Dan thinks. He doesn’t say that, can tell it sounds pathetic. He knows he’s shaking, tries to calm down, fails, and instead finds himself laughing a dark, manic laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

He wants to stop laughing, but he physically can’t. Is this fucking aberration against God trying to _break up with him?_ This is hilarious. “Sorry. Tell me again what the fuck it is you think is happening here?”

 

“I don’t fucking know, Dan. That’s why we have to talk. We’ve been fucking around for, what, almost a year now, and we’ve never had a conversation-”

 

“What fucking conversation, Jonah? This isn’t a _relationship_. What were you expecting, fucking anniversary flowers?”

 

“Okay, but don’t act like I’m making this up,” Jonah says, and he’s moderating his tone, crossing the room to stand closer to Dan. “You brought your family for a White House tour and then threw a hissy fit over your brother laughing at one of my jokes.”

 

Jonah is so transparently trying to talk him down; he’s acting like a zookeeper trying to tame a wild animal. It’s pissing Dan the fuck off.

 

“It was you who accused me of- and I’m quoting here- ‘cheating’ on you by _texting_ someone about memes ‘behind your back’. So in whatever plane of reality Dan was operating on that day, were we in an exclusive relationship?”

 

“You’re gonna want to get the fuck outta my face, big guy.”

 

“Dan, can you just _try_ to calm the fuck down?”

 

Dan is laughing louder now. _No,_ he thinks. He probably couldn’t calm down even if he wanted to try, which he does not. “Nah, I don’t think I can, Jonah. Fuck you. You’re fucking delusional.”

 

“Jesus, Dan. Breathe.”

 

 _Fuck that,_ Dan thinks, but infuriatingly Jonah is right, it feels like the oxygen’s going out of the room. He ought to be doing anxiety breaths, counting and visualizing a beach or some shit, but he wants to scream Amy-style instead and then possibly murder Jonah and discreetly dispose of the body.

 

“It’s literally impossible to have a human conversation with you,” Jonah is saying. “You’re like an anxiety disorder just stuffed into a fucking skin sack. You might want to look into whether there’s a pill you can take to help you be less of a total fucking psycho.”

 

Dan’s really not even thinking in words at this point, just _visualizations,_ but instead of a calming seascape he’s picturing curbstomping Jonah’s fucking head, or locking him in here and setting the whole townhouse on fire, and fuck the neighbors. Fuck Jonah for acting like he’s the rational one in this. What a joke. Somehow he’s turned the tables and now if Dan gives in and beats the shit out of him he’s proving the fucker’s point. Jonah will probably want to fucking “calmly” discuss the beatdown afterwards.

 

No, for this to work he’s going to have to get Jonah to break first. Funnily enough, having a discrete, achievable goal is what allows Dan to calm down, at least somewhat. He concentrates on channeling all the rage into an icy, precise weapon.

 

“You know what, Jonah? You’re right. I’m the crazy one. It’s totally logical to think that since I’m the first psycho idiot to ever make the same mistake for twelve months in a row, that I actually give a shit about you.”

 

Jonah looks thrown off by the sudden change in Dan’s tone, and he’s opening and closing his mouth like he’s searching for something to say. Dan barrels on.

 

“Yeah, it’s understandable that you might get confused. I mean, you don’t have any friends and you never have, so you can’t tell when someone is transparently fucking with you. That’s why you’ve been in love with me since the three days I spent pumping you for information in 2012. I mean, it is fucking _pathetic,_ but I get it.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Dan,” Jonah says, but he doesn’t look angry enough yet, just sort of sad.

 

“You were the one who wanted to talk, pal. It’s just weird, because it seems like you’ve forgotten that the day I fucking deigned to touch you was the luckiest day of your life, and I was 60% doing it as a joke.”

 

Jonah shakes his head. “You’re such a fucking narcissist.”

 

“Yeah, and? You gonna fucking cry about it?” Now Dan is the one getting in Jonah’s face.

 

“Fuck you, I’m not fucking crying. Anyway, you’re not even the hottest person I’ve ever been with.”

 

 _Bull shit._ By the time Dan remembers he’s not supposed to be throwing the first punch, his fist is already flying through the air. He hits Jonah’s smug face first, then his stomach. Jonah winces, then shakes his head again.

 

“Dan, I’m not doing this. This is ridiculous.”

 

“Yeah? Then get the fuck out of my house.”

 

Jonah has his hands up to block Dan’s fists, but his expression is still a placating one. Dan can’t remember the last time he was this furious. “Hit me back, you motherfucking pussy.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Dan,” Jonah says. Dan surges forward into his space, but Jonah grabs his wrists instead of hitting back. Furious, Dan thrashes, trying to get his hands free. He succeeds only in knocking both of them off balance, sending them careening to the floor. He tries to pull his right fist back, but Jonah and his unfair size advantage somehow manage to overpower him, flipping him onto his back like a fucking dying beetle.

 

“Fucking hit me back, you fucker,” Dan spits. “Hit me or get the fuck out of my house.”

 

Jonah doesn’t release his death grip on Dan’s wrists. Instead he just lowers his enormous body until his full weight is resting on Dan, effectively caging him in.

 

Dan is still mad as all hell, but his traitor body responds to Jonah’s closeness, his smell, almost immediately. He’d thought he was maxed out on humiliation for the night, but this is a new low. They’re grinding against each other now, frantic and feral, and when Jonah searches out his mouth he kisses back, thirsty and violent, their teeth clashing. He bites down on Jonah’s bottom lip so hard he draws blood. Jonah moans and grabs onto his hair, jerking Dan’s head to the side so he can get at his neck. He sucks on it, hard and sloppy and wet, and that’s definitely going to leave a mark. It feels fucking good, though, and Dan’s brain has sort of shorted out. “Want you,” he hears himself moan, and his voice sounds fucked-out already, throat still raw.

 

“I fucking hate you,” he hedges.  

 

“Yeah? Am I ‘delusional’, or are you about to beg me to fuck you?” Jonah stills completely and gives Dan this knowing look. Dan seethes. He really means to push Jonah off, because he’s _not_ this cock whipped, even if he did fly across the country this morning mostly in hopes of getting reamed.

 

“Fine, you can fuck me, but do it from behind. I don’t want to fucking look at you,” Dan grits out after a couple long minutes spent trying and failing to summon up the sufficient willpower to refuse. Jonah looks way too triumphant at this concession.

 

“Look, I’m only agreeing to this because you’re more convenient than trying to jerk myself off with one hand and hold a vibrator in the other.”

 

Jonah is too stupid to recognize this for the dismissal it is. His eyes light up.

 

“Dan, are you telling me there’s a vibrator hidden somewhere in this apartment and I am _just now_ finding out about it?”

 

“You’re an idiot. What I’m telling you is that your only value to me is that of an oversized sex toy, and that you have about two minutes to start fucking me before I change my mind.”

 

Jonah clambers off him in a hurry, gesturing towards the bedroom. Dan obliges, libido winning out over resentment. He’s still wearing his jeans, and he’s regretting the decision to go commando, with the zipper chafing and precome soaking through to form a sizeable wet spot on the front.

 

“Will you stop fucking smiling?”

 

“No,” Jonah says, and twists Dan around forcibly so he’s leaning up against the dresser, bracing himself with both hands.

 

“Color?” Jonah asks as he jerks Dan’s pants down and starts to finger him. Dan shoots a glare over one shoulder.

 

“Jonah, I’m gonna need you to stick your cock in my ass right fucking now, or so help me-”

 

Jonah slaps one hand over Dan’s mouth. Dan squawks in protest, but he’s mollified by the rough slide of not-enough-prep as Jonah finally makes good. It hurts, actually- but it’s satisfying, feels vital, feels good. Jonah sighs contentedly and moves his hand to Dan’s hip, digging his nails in.

 

“I can’t fucking stand you,” Dan reiterates, for clarity. “We’re never doing this again.”

 

Jonah doesn’t answer, just puts his mouth back over the spot on Dan’s neck that’s already reddening, bites down hard and sucks. The skin is sensitive already, this _hurts,_ it’s so overwhelming that Dan can’t help the full-body shudder, tries to bite back the moan that accompanies it.

 

As if sensing that Dan’s holding out on him, Jonah snakes one hand up his shirt and pinches one nipple, harder than Dan would usually like. Somehow, instead of complaining, he’s shouting out, pushing back on Jonah’s cock, chasing more pleasure, more stimulation. It must be all the adrenaline, but he’s wretchedly worked up already. He lifts one hand off the edge of the dresser, reaches for his cock-he’s fucking _close_ , ridiculously so for being untouched- but Jonah slaps his hand away.

 

“Fuck you,” Dan says.

 

“I am fucking you, Daniel, and I’m pretty sure you know that. But I’m not touching your dick until you beg me. Or, if you prefer, you can jack yourself off when I’m done using your pretty fat ass.”

 

Dan shivers, fury and humiliation somehow just making him more desperate.

 

“You gonna beg for it, baby girl?”

 

 _Like fuck,_ Dan thinks. “If you were fucking me properly, I would have gotten off by now,” he says.

 

“At this point-” he’s cut off by the feeling of Jonah raking his fingernails down his entire torso, and he makes an undignified noise which somewhat undercuts his point- “I’m thinking I should have gone with the fucking dildo.”

 

It’s not even a dildo, really, it’s a very unassuming, streamlined prostate massager, utilitarian really, but Dan knows he’s said the right thing when Jonah slaps his ass, hard. He grins, victorious.

 

“Oh, now you wanna hit me? Do it again, pussy.” Jonah obliges, keeping time with the movement of his hips, and Dan loses count after twenty-something, registers only slightly the feeling of Jonah’s teeth sinking into that same spot on his neck for the third time before his orgasm hits and he’s totally ruined the wood finish on the dresser, probably.

 

“Oh, fuck, _baby,_ ” Jonah says, and Dan almost regrets that this choice of position means not seeing Jonah’s retarded cum face one last time.

 

After throwing out the condom, Jonah comes back over and tries to kiss him. Dan freezes and opts not to open his mouth. Now that he’s gotten off, Dan feels slightly less murderous, but he’s still keenly aware that something’s off, a shift in their careful equilibrium. _Why did you want to ruin this_ , he wonders sullenly.

 

“You should probably go,” he says.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Jonah agrees after a second.

 

“Turn out the lights on your way out, will you?” He gets into bed.

 

Dan sleeps badly, even by his standards. In the five o’clock sunlight, he examines the bruises on his neck in the mirror, pressing down on them and feeling nauseous. He pulls out his laptop and pays the $200 change fee to move his flight up by two days. Kat will be glad to have him back, anyway.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, on this seminal day, have five thousand more words of this. I never thought that my fic would become OOC because Dan and Jonah *weren't into each other enough*, but this is a brave new world. Enjoy this filth. The second half is not even proofread, so let me know if you spot anything weird. For those of you who are new, welcome to garbage town.

Dan honestly had not thought that it was possible to assemble a team less qualified or more disorganized than Selina’s old crew at the EEOB.

 

He'd been wrong. Most of the campaign volunteers besides him are Kat’s old Twitter followers. It seems the #clicktivism cause that had united most of them had been #legalizeit. Now that they've won that battle, they're taking smoke breaks as if they’re office temps in the 90s.

 

Dan really doesn't know how he ended up the straight-edge Hall Monitor here. He was mixing coke and Klonopin when these kids were probably in diapers.

 

Now, though, he needs eyes on these massive spreadsheets of old email lists and contact info, needs people on the phones with likely voters, needs _bodies_ in the fucking _seats_ in front of the computers because that’s what makes this a fucking campaign office and not an abandoned tractor warehouse.

 

Dan reminds himself to take deep breaths. In his experience, it’s even odds whether thinking harder about breathing makes the squeeze in his chest easier or harder to deal with. What really works is lorazepam, but it seems as if it’s fallen to Dan Egan to somehow be the one sober man keeping this fucking campaign afloat.

 

He finds his staff outside- they hadn’t even moved far, all eight or nine of them lounging on the end of the concrete loading dock outside. Not one of them has had the haircut they needed in the last two years. They are wearing at least four different types of hats, all atrocious.

 

“Hey!” he shouts to get their attention.

 

“Hey,” one of them says, grinning. They are blonde and androgynous and holding out the biggest vaporizer Dan has ever seen. “You want?”

 

“No thanks,” Dan says, and is annoyed when no one reacts to the obvious message in his tone. Six of them are staring off into space, and one of them is laughing hysterically.

 

“Stop being so fucking old, dude.”

 

“What are you afraid of? You know it’s legal here, right?”

 

Dan hasn’t smoked regularly since college. The best case scenario is eating everything in sight and wasting hours of time thinking about the universe or some shit. The worst case scenario was the time he spent two days feeling like he was trapped in a dream version of his life and unable to sleep, feeling watched. Jonah had gotten him to agree to shotgun one time last year, and nothing catastrophic had happened, but that was over some three-day weekend, and they’d been a couple beers deep. Today is Thursday and it’s 11AM and they are at the office of a US senatorial campaign, for Christ’s sake.

“Do you guys not have, like, homes to go to? If you just want to smoke up all day, and don’t give a fuck about whether the Republicans win this Senate seat? Is this really what you pictured when you signed up to volunteer?”

 

“Nah, man,” one of them says. “We want Kat to win and everything. We love her, she’s fucking awesome. But the election’s not till, like, the middle of November. Chill.”

 

People out here talk so excruciatingly slowly. If these were DC interns, Dan would go off on a diatribe with a lot of graphic sexual imagery and put the fear of God in them. With this pile of retarded sloths, though, the words would probably zoom right by them as they inhaled. It’s pointless.

 

Dan pinches the bridge of his nose and turns around. If nothing else, he can be making donor phone calls right now until the rally later tonight. Fuck the West Coast. Dan will literally never “relax,” “chill,” or “go with the flow.” Not even in the grave.

 

It’s more and more obvious that he’s being set up to fail here. A month ago, he’d been euphoric, with visions of pulling off an underdog win and re-making his name in DC, finally. It’s still beyond him how one fucking panic attack has fucked over his entire life and reputation so thoroughly.

 

\---

 

Historically, Dan’s taste and experience with women has always sort of skewed older. Today, though, they’re in Boulder, overgrown college town that it is, for the hundredth time. After a long day of being photographed looking adorable and wholesome at the farmer’s market on an unseasonably warm Saturday, Sophia breaks and throws a massive tantrum. Dan can’t quite track the cause of it, but he’s grateful to see her handed off to the nearest set of grandparents. He’d sort of begun revising his thoughts on kids these past few weeks- Soph is way cuter and more easygoing than Dave’s kids, and the voters fucking love her, so- but the pitch of her wailing, almost non-verbal at this point, reminds him why he hasn’t been back to Rochester in years.

 

Kat’s face looks how he feels when she suggests they go for a drink. They agree on a place, back in Denver, and a couple of hours later she shows up sporting her “incognito” look, which includes jeans and an unironic snapback. Dan hopes passively that they’re not photographed.

 

One beer in and he manages to put thoughts of work from his mind. More pressing is the look Kat is giving him. She has this whole ~all-knowing earth mother shtick which he knows is mostly bullshit, but still. It's unsettling.

 

“So,” she says finally. “I can't get my head around it. You roll up here after a weekend off with marks all up your neck like that, and I'm thinking _wow_ , somebody locked that shit down, and congrats are in order. But two days out and here you are, running around looking fucking miserable. And now you're thinking about getting a number from that fucking coed over there.”

 

“She's gotta be at least a grad student,” Dan counters, looking quickly across the room to the girl in question, then back again. _Yeah, she’s gotta be at least twenty-four_.

 

“No, no shade, man. She's cute as hell. Point is, now I'm thinking, this must be, y’know, breakup sex aftermath.” She reaches out a hand to indicate the mess on his right side. She has a point. It's not so noticeable under coats and scarves but it's been warm today, especially inside the bar, and Dan can tell there are at least three different colors decorating the join between his neck and shoulder.

 

Dan makes a face before he can think better of it.

 

“That sucks, dude. I been there.” Dan thinks about correcting her, explaining that there had been nothing to break up, but that would entail getting into it, which he categorically does not want to do.

 

“Yo, if you don't wanna talk about it, just lemme know. And if you need me to run interference,” she flicks her gaze subtly towards the girl across the bar, who's still making intermittent eye contact- “I got you.”

 

Dan shrugs, channeling nonchalance. “Nothing to talk about.”

 

“Okay, fair enough. One question?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “Guy or girl?”

 

Dan takes a drink. “Guy.” It still feels a little weird telling the truth- Dan’s never _exactly_ been closeted, he’s always allowed people to read into him whatever they most wanted to see, but admitting that just because it’s true, not to help him manipulate the outcome of the conversation, is still a novel choice.

 

Kat nods knowingly. “Aight, so you know what to do. These are the perks of non-monosexuality, right? _Fuck_ men. No offense, but men fucking suck. Go eat some pussy and I guarantee you'll feel better in the morning.” She hops off the barstool and smacks a kiss on his cheek.

 

“Godspeed, cariño.”

 

\---

Kat turns out to be right. It's been a long time since Dan has done this and it's kind of nice to be so far removed from the Beltway that just mentioning that he knows the president is impressive. In fact, he’s so off his game that the obvious name-dropping strategy doesn’t even occur to him at first. He’s telling some stupid story about the 2016 election when the girl stops him.

 

“Wait, when you say Selina, you don’t mean Selina _Meyer_ , do you?” She’s giving him a face like she thinks he’s full of shit.

“What?” Dan says, caught off guard. “Oh, yeah. I was on her vice presidential staff. Here,” he says recovering, “I have pictures.” Swiping through the album on his phone to show her, he’s so excited to be _winning_ a conversation so decisively that he slips up and lands on a picture of Jonah, in some ugly sweater with his West Wing badge on. He freezes, just for a split second, and locks his phone screen.

 

“Enough about that boring political stuff, anyway,” he says, affecting an easy tone and making reassuring eye contact. “Tell me about you.”

 

The girl, Callie, is smart and funny, at least to the extent that you can tell from a single conversation in a loud bar. She's very pretty, if a little small- she might even be shorter than Amy- but she has dark hair and bright green eyes, with a focus behind them that Dan recognizes. After two or three more drinks, which he insists on paying for- he’s still consistently blown away by how cheap alcohol is outside the Eastern seaboard- he lets her invite him back to her apartment, lets her call the Uber on her phone, and as they walk outside he notices the calm, fluid way she moves and the slight wave in her hair. On second thought, she's really not like Amy at all. For all he's infuriated by the West Coast approach to life, her relaxation is contagious as she drapes herself over him in the car. Her mouth is small and pouty and tastes of gum, some kind of artificial fruit flavor.

 

After she lets them into her apartment - a decently sized one bedroom with one grey cat waiting by the door- Dan takes a look around. He sees an open gym bag by the door with a pair of pointe shoes sticking out of it.

 

“Sorry,” she says, walking back towards him. “He was just hungry.”

 

Dan kisses her, exploratory, testing the waters. “It's okay,” he says, and it is. The apartment barely even smells of cat.

 

“Do you wanna,” she says, a little awkwardly, and then moves to lift the hem of her black dress. Dan takes her meaning, shucks off his dark-wash jeans and shirt, looks at her. She’s wearing nothing but a pair of blue lace boyshorts, no bra, and he can see the outlines of her abs.

 

“Sorry,” she says, fidgeting with her hair.

 

“Fuck that,” Dan says without thinking, then- “I mean, you look incredible. Can I- What do you like?” He takes a step forward, and she takes a couple steps backward, and now she’s backed up against the wall, looking up at him. It’s weird to be on this side of things, looming over someone rather than being caged in- weird in a good way, Dan tells himself. He leans down again to kiss her, but he gets this urge-

 

“Sorry,” he says, “Can I-” and he grabs her by the backs of her thighs, lifts her up so their faces are even. _Christ,_ it’s fucking easy to do it, too, she’s so tiny. He could do anything to her. He meets her eyes. “Okay?”

 

She nods, looking a little flustered. “Yeah. That’s good. That’s-” her hips move forward a little, and Dan moves one hand to her ass, pulls her so she’s grinding her clit flush against his stomach.

 

“What do you want?” he asks into her mouth.

 

“I don’t know,” she says. “Whatever is fine. This is fine.”

 

“Do you like- can I-” and he’s had just enough to drink that he slips to his knees without second guessing himself, glancing up for her reaction. She nods again, looking a little shell-shocked. Good. Dan pulls the panties down, lets her step out of them. She’s totally hairless, which is usually not his thing, but he likes it today, a detail to ground him in the here and now. He just looks at her for a long minute, already a little wet and slick, flushed red in contrast with the pale tone of the rest of her body. “Callie?” he says, questioning.

 

“Mhmm?”

 

“Can I try something? You’re a dancer, right? I just wanna-” He doesn’t know exactly where the idea comes from- a combination of things, probably. Living out of a hotel for weeks on end now, he hasn’t been sleeping much. At three in the morning, alone in Colorado, there’s nothing better to do than go to the hotel gym and lift until his body, if not his mind, is ready to rest. He knows his upper body strength has improved some, and that’s just exaggerated by the size contrast here.

It's very hot that he's able to move her around so easily, she's so small. But strong, too, he can see in the lines of her arms and the definition in her thighs- and something about the play between endurance and pleasure is fucking hot.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“I want you to sit,” and he lifts up at her hips to demonstrate, “like, put your legs over my shoulders. Yeah? Does that work?”

 

She does it, bracing her arms against the wall, but balancing with his hands under her hips, spotting her.

 

“Yeah,” she says after adjusting her position for a minute. “Yeah, I got it. Hey, what if you sit down? Like, instead of kneeling?”

 

“Okay, hop down,” he says, and moves so he’s sitting with his legs crossed flat on the floor. She nods approvingly and climbs back on.

 

“Yeah, that’s good,” she says, stretching out, and he can tell now that her feet are actually touching the floor behind him, somehow- he doesn’t understand how she can stretch that far, but this is some Cirque du Soleil, kama sutra shit, and Dan is one hundred percent into it. It’s good because this position requires all of his focus, requires him to be in his body in this room and this moment. The racing of his thoughts is finally quiet for the first time all week.

 

“I’m gonna eat you out now,” he informs her. “Tell me what you like.” She makes a kind of whimpering noise in answer. He starts by just moving to taste her, after what feels like an eternity of waiting. She’s dripping in earnest now, sweet and clear and tangy,and he just laps at the excess to start with. She’s incredibly responsive, heaving little gasping breaths and squeezing her thighs together around his head. He circles around her clit slowly, gently, the exertion in his arms making it seem like hours when it’s probably only minutes. Finally, when she’s shuddering and whining around him, he zeroes in on her clit, sucking it in earnest, and she comes with a high-pitched cry.

 

Dan looks up at her and quirks an eyebrow. “Good? You wanna go again?”

 

Her face is flushed. “You don’t have to.”

 

“I’m not gonna drop you,” he says. “Anything I should do differently?”

 

“Um,” she says, biting her lip. “I like it if you- like, start at the bottom? And just lick up the whole way, like, slowly. I’m really sensitive the second time. Just straight up and down is good.” She nods, looking more sure of herself.

 

Dan grins and hurries to comply, keeping a rhythm in his head and savoring all the sensory details- the slight soreness in his shoulders and forearms, the drag of a little bit of stubble on one of her pussy lips, the drip of wetness down his chin. Nothing else exists. When she finally comes, slapping at the wall behind her, he’s taken by surprise.

 

“That’s so good,” she’s saying. “God, that’s perfect. Just like that. Perfect. _Oh._ ” She clambers down, looking overwhelmed.

 

Dan looks up at her. She licks her lips and gestures for him to stand. They make out messily for a few minutes before she pulls back. “You can- if you want- I have condoms,” she says.

 

Dan considers it for half a second. “It’s okay,” he says finally. “I’m pretty drunk, so. I’m just kinda tired-”

 

He’s not that drunk, actually, but it’s an easier explanation than telling her that he got exactly what he wanted out of this situation, that he feels settled in his skin now.

 

“Sorry,” she says again. “You didn’t have to- If I’d known you were that tired, I wouldn’t-”

 

“Shh,” he says. “It’s fine. I wanted to.”

 

“You can sleep here,” she offers next, and it’s obvious she’s saying it partly out of obligation, but Dan _is_ actually pretty tired in the scheme of things, and leaving here just means going back to a sterile hotel room and probably waking up in a couple hours and going to work out again.

 

“I have to be up early,” he hedges.

 

“No, me too,” she says. “5 AM. Sorry. You can go if you want.”

 

He stays, though, which he would _never_ do with a one-night stand back home, but no one is watching him here and it’s not like he would really be going _home_ , anyway. They sleep in her messy IKEA-looking bed for the few hours until both their phone alarms go off. In the morning, Dan pets her cat and leaves her his card, “Just in case you’re ever in DC.”

 

“Thanks,” she says. “This was fun.”

 

Dan is able to hold on to the grounded, after-glow feeling until almost lunchtime, which he counts as a victory.

\---

 

That afternoon, though, the first poll in four weeks comes out, and it’s not looking good. That night Dan stays in, buys a bottle of whiskey (a thirty-five dollar bottle, because drinking out of the minibar feels too pathetic) just for himself. He spends half an hour googling Callie, finds her picture under “Corps de Ballet” on the Colorado Ballet website. He thinks about last night, opens one tab of porn and one of a ballet performance- it takes him a minute to find one that’s not the Nutcracker- but a third of the way or so into the bottle he gives in to the inevitable and dials.

 

The phone rings- once, twice, three times, four- and Dan hangs up quickly. The sound of Jonah’s voice mail message- obnoxious, profane, completely inappropriate for a former congressional candidate, or for any human adult- would be too humiliating. Dan resists the urge to throw the phone across the room.

 

When the phone lights up forty-five seconds later, Dan picks up before he remembers that answering on the first ring makes you look desperate and pathetic.

 

“Dan,” Jonah says, and Dan can tell from his voice that he’s half asleep. “What the fuck? Why are you calling me at three thirty ass in the morning?”

 

“I dunno,” Dan says. “Why did you call me back, if it’s so late?”

 

“Don’t say it like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like it’s just me pretending that it’s late! It’s the middle of the fucking night, and I know you understand time zones. What the fuck is this about? I thought we weren’t talking anymore, remember?”

 

Dan hums noncommittally. “No, Dan, not ‘hmm’,” Jonah splutters. “ _You_ said that. You said, never again, blah blah blah, this is the last time, and threw a whole dramatic hissy fit over nothing. You ended it. Why are you fucking calling me?”

 

“I dunno,” Dan says again. “I’m sorry if I hurt your _feelings_. We can still talk, if you want.”

 

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Jonah says, sounding resigned. “You’re lucky you’re so hot.”

 

Dan grins. “Go fuck yourself. Look, do you want to hear about the ballerina I fucked or not?”

 

A pause. “Jesus, Dan. Why didn’t you lead with that?” The timbre of Jonah’s voice has changed, just subtly, and it’s fucking stupid how easily Dan’s whole body sort of melts into it. He thumbs the tip of his dick through his pajama pants and finds it already wet.

 

“Dan?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Tell me about her. Was she hot?”

 

Dan nods emphatically even though Jonah can’t see him. “Yeah. At least an eight. Not a DC eight, either. Really cute, super tiny with, like, dark brown hair-”

 

“Isn’t your type usually blondes?”

 

“I don’t have a type. Shut the fuck up and let me talk, will you? Anyway, she was wearing this, like, black dress thing with no bra underneath-”

 

“You fuck her in the bar, the bathroom, or did you make it into the cab?”

 

“Shut up,” Dan says. So he has a little bit of a thing for sex in public places. It’s not that weird. “No, I went back to her place.”

 

“Oh wow, straight sex in a _bed_? You going vanilla on me, Egan? Did you do it missionary and come inside her? You gonna have wife her up and have some Mormon babies?”

 

Jonah is so fucking weird, nothing he’s saying makes any kind of sense but Dan can tell from the change in his breathing that he’s touching himself, getting off on the idea.

 

“Okay, first of all, I’m in Colorado, not Utah. And we didn’t use the bed. And I didn’t actually, like, come.”

 

“Oh really?” Jonah sounds interested.

 

“Yeah,” Dan says. “She was so little, I could throw her around no problem. I held her up and made her come on my tongue, twice.”

 

“Yeah? You’re good at that, aren’t you? You like making yourself useful.”

 

Dan whines and steps out of his pants to try and get a better angle as he strokes himself. It’s almost infuriating how well Jonah knows him at this point, knows exactly the right, humiliating thing to say to get him off. Or, it would be infuriating if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

 

“Yeah. She really liked it, too. Said it was perfect. I thought- _Jesus-_ after the first time I was afraid I was gonna drop her, but I didn’t.”

 

“Good boy,” Jonah says, and Dan can tell he means to be condescending, but he flushes with pleasure anyway. “Why didn’t you fuck her?”

 

“I dunno,” Dan says, and he really doesn’t. He couldn’t explain it well even stone sober in the light of day, and he’s certainly not going to try now. The less he says, the easier it is to keep Jonah talking.

 

“I would have fucked her for you,” Jonah says, considering. “If you weren’t up to it. Would you like that, Dan? Taking home a beautiful girl and just getting her all wet and dripping and ready, and then you just watch me fuck her? Maybe if you’re good I’ll let you touch yourself while you watch. Maybe not, though. You’ve been kind of a brat lately.”

 

Dan’s picturing it, and it’s a good mental image- he doesn’t know how Jonah does this, hits buttons sometimes that he didn’t know he had. “She might-” he says, hesitating. “You’re pretty big.”

 

Jonah laughs. “You’re not the first girl to tell me that, Danny. What’s your point?”

 

“It just- she was really tiny. Like, maybe five feet. You might-”

 

“What, you think I might hurt her? You think I should fuck you instead?”

 

“Fuck, _yeah_ ,” Dan says mindlessly, and his hand is really flying now.

“How about this,” Jonah says. “I fuck you from behind while you keep your mouth busy with her pussy. Make her come a third time, yeah? You can do that, right?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dan says, thinking about how sensitive Callie had been after the second time, thinking about her making noises, directing him, her voice mingling with the slapping sounds of Jonah behind him. “Christ, I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You don’t come until I- until we tell you. Until we’re both done using you. Okay?”

As always, the denial makes Dan even needier. He forces himself to hold his hand away for a minute, tries to get his breathing calmed down. “Okay,” he says, voice tight. “When you tell me."

“Fuck. I’m so close, baby. You want it in you or on you?”

 

“On me,” Dan says. “Come on me, I want you to. Mark me up.”

 

“ _Shit!_ ” Jonah says, breathing heavily. “Holy shit. Okay. Fuck, that’s hot. I’m gonna rub it all over your back, huh? You’re gonna smell like me. Don’t shower, just put on your clothes and go to work like that so everyone knows who you belong to.”

 

“Jonah, please,” Dan says, pressing the heel of his hand into the base of his cock. He can feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body. He feels flushed and electrified and desperately turned on.

 

“Okay, I got you. You want to come?”

 

“Fuck you,” Dan says. “Please.”

 

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to set the pace for you. Get your hand around yourself, but hold it still for me. Got it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good boy. Now I’m going to count for you. Pretend it’s my hand, okay? I’m gonna make you feel so good, if you can be good for me. Are you going to be good?”

 

Dan wants to say yes, but it’s taking all his concentration to hold his hips still, not to thrust forward into the loose circle of his hand. There’s no brain capacity left for the formation of words. He lets out a sort of squeaking sound, and luckily Jonah understands.

 

“Okay, baby. With me, now. One. Two. Three, four, five-”

 

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck._ Dan is so close already, can feel it coiling up in the pit of his stomach, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed yet. “Jonah,” he says urgently.

 

“Eight, nine, ten, eleven- stop.”

 

Dan cries out involuntarily, jerks his hand away and rakes it through his hair, pulling at the roots, trying to ground himself. Incredibly, he feels his eyes tearing up. “Jonah, please.”

 

“ _Shhh_. Soon, baby. I got you. You just gotta be patient for me. You can do that, right?”

 

Dan watches his cock jerk in the air, leaking a steady stream of precome that’s dripping down onto the hotel desk chair. He tries to breathe, tries to form words in his mind, but all he can do is want.

 

“Okay, again. One, two, three-” Dan tries to stroke slowly, to make them last, tries not to work himself up too quickly, but when Jonah stops him again he can’t help crying out.

 

“ _Fuck_! Please, Jonah, please-”

 

“Jesus Christ, Dan, you’re unbelievable. I wish I was there, wish I could see you. You look so good like this, you’re so good for me, baby. Can’t believe how good you are. I’m going to count it out again, and you can come whenever you want to, okay?”

 

Dan whimpers. “Okay. One, two-” Dan doesn’t make it through the second upstroke.

 

It takes Dan a couple minutes to come down, breathing heavily and wiping himself and the furniture down. He notices after a bit, though, that Jonah has gone uncharacteristically quiet.

 

“You asleep?” he asks, and whatever weird thing his voice is deciding to do, he’s not thrilled about it.

 

“No,” Jonah says after a beat. “Just thinking. Look, about the other day-”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dan cuts him off. “I overreacted. We don’t have to stop, if you don’t want to. The sex is fucking great. Let’s just keep it simple. You’re not my boyfriend, y’know, but when I’m back in the 202 I’ll hit you up.”

 

“Fine,” Jonah says. “If you fuck anyone else, feel free to actually come next time. I’m not actually your, like, dungeon master.”

 

Dan snickers at that. “Got it. Go back to sleep, Bigfoot. You’ve got work in the morning.”

 

Jonah hangs up. Dan is left feeling monumentally relieved. Even the next morning, he gets out of the shower and catches himself smirking in the bathroom mirror. He tries to tamp it down, but can’t.

\---

 

It’s nice to have one good, reliable thing in his life, anyway- over the next couple weeks they talk intermittently. Dan tries not to examine too closely the fact that he gets off harder jerking it on the phone with Jonah than with any of the Coloradans of various genders he’s picked up in bars over the past month.

 

In an unsurprising turn of events that follows up on a series of minor humiliations on the campaign trail, they lose the election pretty dramatically. It’s so bad that Kat’s congressional seat ends up going to the GOP as well. That part is obviously not Dan’s fault, but somehow Selina and the DNC at large don’t see it that way. For her part, Kat doesn’t seem too fazed.

 

“I think it’s probably good to take a break from politics,” she says. “Get some actual work experience, you know. Raise my kid. Smoke weed. Talk to me in five years and we’ll see where we are. We’re both young, you know.”

 

Dan doesn’t really feel young, though. He checks his fine lines in the mirror the morning before he flies back to DC and tries not to think about the fact that he doesn’t actually have, like, a _job_ or life purpose of any kind waiting for him. He tries not to think about it the whole flight home and the whole night after that, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: the prequel where I incorporate last night's episode into the backstory. Also, there was some confusion last time, so let me just say: when the series is over, I will let y'all know. Until then assume that I'm scribbling filth nonstop into a steno pad at work, like a True American.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on tumblr adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com. I only want to talk about fuckboys for the rest of my life.


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